An old woman was sitting at the corner, grinding a hand-organ, and as the robber ran past her, he dropped one of the rings into her cup.
"Oh, dad," Mary had said, looking up and speaking on impulse, "did I hear you say last night that Burdon Woodward was in New York ?" "No, dear.

Boston." "Mm," thought Mary.

"He'd say he was going to Boston for a blind." And for many a week after that she slyly watched his fingers, to see if she could catch him red-handed so to speak, wearing one of those rings! Yet even while she glanced she had the grace to smile at her fancies.
"All the same," she told herself, "it sounded an awful lot like him." The encounter which I am now going to tell you about took place one morning after Mary had been elected to the presidency of the company.

She had just finished breakfast when Burdon telephoned.
"Your father had some private papers in his desk down here," he said.

"I was wondering if you'd like to come down and look them over." "Thank you," she said.